Surrender (The Command Series Book 3) (16 page)

He felt a twinge of relief at her understanding. “I didn’t want—”

“What happens now?” she said flatly.

“You’ll get some sleep and then I can figure out what the next step is.”

The hotel had a side entrance and he brought his suitcase up with them, ducking into the room and making sure it was clear. It was cramped. A full-sized bed with a dingy, lumpy comforter and lopsided curtains that made no effort to block daylight. It had an en-suite though, thank God.

“Okay,” he said, after he’d gotten her in and locked the door behind them. “Let me take a look at that hand.”

“It’s fine.” The stiff words were a warning to keep his distance. Understandably, she wasn’t too happy with him.

“Are you hungry? I could go downstairs and get something while you take a shower.” She hadn’t mentioned a shower, but he’d assumed.

“No.” Food was probably the last thing on her mind. She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and he heard the tiny click as she locked the flimsy doorknob that would be even quicker to kick open than pick. And she was aware he knew his way with a lock, wasn’t she?

Moments later, the shower was running. He set his suitcase down on the worn dresser top and dug out a white t-shirt for her to wear until Rance arrived with new clothes. Until then, she’d have to wear his shirt. That image stirred something inside his chest that was scary. He was coming apart with exhaustion, that’s what this had to be.

The white shirt was folded and placed by the door, and then he sat on the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and closed his eyes to rest a moment.

The mattress jostled, waking him.
Shit.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She climbed under the covers beside him in the microscopic bed, his undershirt clinging to her damp skin. Her exhausted stare crept up to his, guarded.

Ethan got off the bed to give her space to sleep and went to shower himself. He’d been careful with the bodies, but he had blood on his hands, some of which he felt might never wash off. The shower head came up to his chest, so he put his hands on the wall and hunched over, letting the water rain down over the back of his head as he tried not to fall asleep standing up. Europeans and their stupid low handheld nozzles. The American in him refused to use them as intended.

He pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and shoved away thoughts of the woman in the bed. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made him mad, this total lack of self-control. Passing her off to someone else was what he should have done. If he’d notified Daniel as he was supposed to, she’d be moving through the Agency machine right now, and on her way to being gone forever from his life.

He couldn’t have that. Ethan was a selfish bastard.

Olivia rolled over quickly in the bed, turning her back to him when he emerged, but not fast enough. He’d seen the tears glistening on her face and the hand she used to wipe them away. Seeing her vulnerable triggered more feelings he didn’t want to have. It prevented him from going to his suitcase and finishing his task of getting dressed.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked in an emotionless voice.

He was exhausted, and the room was too small for him to sleep anywhere but the bed, or balled up on the floor. Rance had assumed Ethan wouldn’t be staying with the pilot, but he wasn’t about to leave her by herself after what she’d been through.

When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Are you coming to bed?”

He wanted that more than he’d care to admit. Not to have sex, but simply to lie beside her on that tiny mattress that he could use as an excuse to be close. To fit her against him in his arms. He’d already slept with her, so it seemed unfair to not actually
sleep
with her.

Call Gio
, his brain ordered, as the sheets were in his hands.
Don’t,
it commanded when he settled down on the hard mattress. The slender curve of her neck beckoned to him. He wanted to kiss her there. But she was still trying to get her emotions in check and he couldn’t take advantage of that.

She flinched when he adjusted his position, his arm up against her, unavoidably touching her.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

The only answer was her rapid, anxious breathing. They remained like that for an eternity, both too exhausted and tense to be able to find sleep. It was bright outside, and even with the curtains drawn, their bodies were resistant.

“Do you have enough room?” It was impossible to tell if she was genuine or sarcastic.

“It’s fine.”

His feet hung off the edge of the mattress, but that wasn’t her fault and he’d grown used to it. Then, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He
had
to hold her, to offer security and comfort after what he’d done and what had happened. Would she allow it?

“I need to . . . get closer.” Hopefully, she couldn’t tell the meaning beneath his words.

She sat upright, wrapped a hand around his arm closest to her, and flung it over onto her side of the bed. It was so she could lie down with his arm beneath her. Her cheek rested on his bare chest.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said.

He swallowed a breath as he tightened his hold, pressing her against him, and brushed his lips over her hairline. “Me neither.”

Olivia turned on the unforgiving mattress, the throbbing pain in her hand waking her. Where was she again? The sight of the crooked curtains reminded her. The tiny, shitty hotel room where she was sharing a bed with the massive man who’d both cut her hand and saved her life, even after she’d nearly killed him. She’d curled up in his embrace, and to her shock, she didn’t mind. Maybe she even liked his strong arm clasped around her, just a little.

Now, she bolted to sit upright when she realized the bed was empty. “Ethan?”

There was no response from the bathroom, and she could see the light was off in there.

“Ethan?”

The room stayed quiet. Had he stepped outside to make a call so he wouldn’t wake her? Gone to pick up something for them to eat?

No, he hadn’t. His suitcase was gone.

He’d left her.

-13-

Olivia kicked down the covers and leaped to her feet. The bathroom tile was cold on her soles, and her stomach was colder still when she saw that her uniform was gone. He’d left her bra and shoes, but she had no pants. Only the oversized white shirt he’d lent her, the one that smelled like him.

Bastard. She was going to give him a gigantic piece of her mind next time she—

Her knees folded so she sat on the edge of the bed. There wouldn’t be a next time. He’d said it himself.
I don’t owe you anything.
Her chest was tight. Wasn’t this what she wanted? She was always the one who did the brushing off to avoid clingy complications or the threat of a relationship. Ethan had saved her the trouble. So why did she have this stinging disappointment?

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he didn’t even say goodbye. Confusion and anger fogged her thoughts, and her eyes drifted down to her left hand, turned palm up so as not to aggravate the aching wound. At least he’d left her something to remember him by.

Bastard.

There was a brief knock at the door, and then the sound of metal sliding into metal. A key unlocking the door. She launched again to her feet, relieved the bastard had returned.

But he hadn’t. It was the man from this morning, the British thug they’d traded cars with. Only now the thug was wearing a suit.

“Olivia,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, love. My name’s Rance.” He tossed a backpack on the bed beside her. “Clothes for you. Can you be quick about it? We’ve got a plane waiting on standby.”

“Where’s Ethan?”

Rance’s mouth opened but nothing came out at first. “He had to go. I’ll explain on the way to the airport. You should get dressed.” He stepped outside and shut the door.

Angry, frustrated, she yanked on the pair of black sweatpants and gray t-shirt that were inside the backpack, then stuffed Ethan’s white shirt inside. The intent was to keep it, although she had no idea why. Less than two minutes later, she was out in the hall, surprising the hulking man who waited there.

Rance had boyish good looks, and appeared to be examining her critically. Had she sprouted a second head? Because that’s how he was looking at her. He seemed about her age, maybe a few years older and creeping into his late-thirties. There was mischief in his bright blue eyes, and cunning too.

“He needs you out of Italy immediately. It’s not safe for either of you if you stay.” And then in direct conflict with what he’d just said, Rance approached, forcing her back into the room. “But I need to see your hand first. I’d prefer not to do stitches in-flight.”

“I don’t need stitches.”

“Had extensive medical training, have we? Give it here.” He held out his hand, demanding she show him. She turned her palm up and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as he gently examined the cut. “You don’t need stitches.”

Even though he was a stranger and had a threatening build, annoyance seeped into her voice. “Like I told you.”

Rather than get mad, a lazy smile widened on his face. “I see why he fancies you.”

Her heart thudded to a stop. Everything in the room went still. “He
said
that?”

Rance seemed to be enjoying the reaction that caused her. “Not with words, but I rather think his actions do. They speak volumes.”

“What the hell are you talking about? He left me here.”

“Only because he had to. He rather gave me the impression he was reluctant about that.” The mischief in Rance’s eyes made her want to tap her internal horizon gauge to make sure it was working. She felt off-kilter. “Ready to shove off?” he asked.

She followed him down the stairs.

“Ethan had to return to his cover,” Rance said. “You’ll need to lay low until his work there is wrapped up.”

“And what work is that, exactly?”

“Sorry, love. Even I don’t know that answer.”

“But you two work together?”

He hurried her to a car and pulled open the back door, wordlessly asking for her to get in, which she did.

“On occasion, but we don’t work for the same people.” The mischievous glint in his eyes was annoying. “Trying to figure him out, are you? Good luck with that.” He shook his head as he shut the door and darted around to the driver’s side.

“Anyway,” he continued as he climbed in, “we’re headed for one of our mutual friends in Munich.”

Her head was a jumbled mess, still buzzing with the earlier comment about Ethan’s actions. As he reached for his seatbelt, a ringing came from his pocket and he dug a phone out.

“We’re about to leave.” That was how he answered it. His blue eyes flicked to hers in the mirror. “She’s fine.” He turned in the seat, and extended the phone to her. Rance didn’t bother to tell her who it was.

“Hello, Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, and I had to check in with Gio.” It was weird to hear his deep voice unaccompanied by that intense gaze.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t owe me anything.” She kept it as professional as she could, trying to mask the sting of hurt. He was doing his job after all, she assumed, but once again she’d lost out to the murderous Gio.

There was a long pause. “Are you okay? Your hand?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. I shouldn’t be long, but I’ll let Rance know not to wait for me if the situation changes.”

“You’re . . . you’re coming back?” Why the hell did her pulse quicken at the idea of that?

“That’s the plan, yes. I’ll see you soon.”

“Ethan, wait.” She wasn’t really sure what she was going to say next. “I’m sorry about what I did on the plane.” The words were just as unsteady as she felt.

There was no response. Had she not caught him in time?

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he replied, his voice hushed.

It only made her feel more out of control. “Thank you,” she matched his low voice, “for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome. Stay safe.”